


20 Seconds to Forever

by SunlitGarden



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Co-workers, Co-workers to lovers, Community Center, F/M, Flirting, Good Parent Mary Andrews, Hugs, Mutual Pining, New Year's Kiss, Oblivious Jughead Jones, POV Jughead Jones, Sweaters, holiday party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21730033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunlitGarden/pseuds/SunlitGarden
Summary: Jughead needs to hug Betty Cooper for at least twenty seconds a day for health-related reasons, like oxytocin. Comfy-looking sweaters may have led her to make the suggestion, but his deep, conflicted crush leads him to accept it. As risky as dating a co-worker would be, the more time he spends with Betty, the healthier and more efficient they both seem to be. By indulging in other twenty second+ activities with Betty, he might be better equipped to serve the community.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 82
Kudos: 250
Collections: 6th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, Home for the HoliDale





	20 Seconds to Forever

A distinct _odor_ clings to the S-shirt and plaid button-down Jughead was planning on wearing to work. Thus far, every attempt he’s made at making something with spices has been a disaster. Normally, he’d say _Fuck It_ and go to work wearing garlic around his neck, but the idea of running through the gauntlet and being called Juggie Spice the rest of the day is enough to make him rifle through his closet again. There’s the cable knit sweater Archie’s mom gave him in what was no doubt a fit of _I-must-adopt-this-poor-and-hungry-child_ mentality.

As he peels off his layers, he pauses, glancing in the mirror. His hair looks a little fluffy, so he’s hoping Mary doesn’t make him take off his hat for anything fancy today. The idea of looking _nice_ eludes him for the most part. He looks _himself_ , which is _fine_. More than fine, some days, if the uncomfortable staring and whispering from teenage girls at the Center are any indication.

At the last second, he decides to swipe on some emergency scent to cover up any lingering unpleasantries. His heart beats a little too fast at the idea of Betty wrinkling her nose at him when he passes by her desk. She has supernatural senses - she always knows when mold’s about or if someone has a cavity that needs to be looked at. It’s part of what makes her such a great addition to their team.

She’s easy on the eyes and happens to be an excellent detective, nurturer, and organizer. The only time she goes sharp with the kids is if she catches them with drugs (and he’s probably going to hell for it, but seeing her get intense kinda turns him on).

Not that it matters how great she is. They’re there to help the community, not make heart-eyes at one another, which is why he refuses to check himself out in the mirror after he’s pulled the comfortable sweater on. Leather doesn’t really _go_ with a comfy sweater aesthetic, so he opts for his Sherpa and hops on the bike.

The snow is a little wet on the ground but a few inches of it seem to be congealing nicely for the upcoming holiday season. Riverdale has to keep up appearances.

_The Town With Pep!_

It always makes him want to roll his eyes.

He casually greets his coworkers as he makes his way to his desk. Betty’s wearing a pastel pink off-the-shoulder sweater that comes down to her elbows and jeans instead of a skirt. At least he won’t be as tempted to look at her legs. Although her _ass_ …

“Hi, Juggie,” she says brightly, curled ponytail only momentarily distracting him from the warmth in her eyes.

“Hi.” He clears his throat. “So on a scale of one to ten, how upset would you be if I Reservoir Dogged your seating chart?”

“Would I get to be Mr. Pink?” she asks, eyebrow arched.

“And here I thought you were going to fight me on it.”

“I know better than to dissuade you from a Tarantino reference, Jug.”

“Beauty _and_ intelligence. You’re a quick learner.”

“I like to think of it as self-preservation.” Her satisfied smirk as she turns back to her chart makes his chest feel tight, but that’s his indulgence for the morning until the craters under his eyes threaten to collapse.

He’s still pondering the correlation of relief related to the first coffee cup of the morning when Betty strides in, green eyes sprinkling him with _feelings_. It’s way too early for feelings, especially forbidden ones for a coworker, but therein the temptation lies, he supposes - although her general being is pretty damn appealing.

As if sensing that he’s trying to avoid looking at her, Betty purposely flounces next to him to get ready for her morning tea. “What’s got you glum, Jug?”

“Ugh. The rhymes. It’s too early.”

She smiles to herself, keeping an eye on her hot pot as if it’s something that needs to be stirred. She’s not one to walk away and leave it to boil.

“That sweater looks nice.” Her appraisal seems soft, but reserved. “I’ve never seen you wear it before. Christmas present?”

“Yeah.” He swallows the dry lump in his throat.

“From whom?”

Gravel dislodges in his throat and the noise he makes might even be considered a chuckle. “You’re the only person I know who would use the proper _whom_ in a sentence.”

“I am _not_.”

“Don’t be ashamed of your grammarly ways, Cooper. I’m proud of you. Fighting the good fight.”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and retrains her gaze on the hot pot. “You still didn’t answer me.”

“Huh?”

“Who gave you the sweater?” The upper third of her thumbnails have gone white from pressure of her mug, but her expression remains unaffected. He wonders about her composure sometimes - if she’s used to hiding her emotions like he is. Everyone’s got skeletons in their closet and he’s yet to really uncover hers. The photos on her desk indicate her sister might’ve had her kids young, but that’s not inherently something to be upset about.

Trying to keep things casual, he takes a sip of coffee and leans on the counter. “Mary, in a very Mrs. Weasley move, got a sweater for me and a sweater for Archie. I’m just thankful they aren’t matching.”

At that, she smiles, hot chocolate pupils and mistletoe rims to her eyes. His own mind is ridiculous. Guzzling coffee can help mute the stupidity.

“I bet you both look cute in them.”

He cringes. “ _Cute_?” _Him and Archie?_

“I’m sorry - super manly and warm.” The hotpot bubbles for her attention. She unplugs it with efficiency, reaching all the way to the connection instead of yanking on the cord. “They’re very huggable-looking sweaters. They make _you_ look very huggable, I guess,” she corrects, twisting her lips like when she’s trying to decide the most gramatically correct way to phrase things.

“I _am_ very huggable. Thanks for noticing.” Even a flash of her smile makes him feel like the funniest guy on the planet.

“Well, would you _like_ one?” she asks, ponytail bouncing mockingly as she pours.

“I guess so. Only from a fellow sweater-wearer, though. No bringing in Fangs and his vests. I never know what he’s carrying in those things.”

Giggling, Betty leaves her tea to steep and wipes her hands, opening her arms to him. “Come on in.”

With a wry smile, he puts his coffee down and does the dumbest thing he can. He holds Betty Cooper. She’s soft and warm and malleable and _squeezing_ him, cheek pressed against his heart. His chest glows with an affection he knows he shouldn’t indulge. It’s not one of those two second bro-greeting hugs with a pat on the back to release the other person. It doesn’t have the heaviness of an apology hug, the lean of _please stay with me_.

“This feels nice,” she murmurs. “The sweater, I mean. Makes you snuggable, Jug.”

He scoffs in faux indignation at her rhymes, waiting for the cue to let go. For now, he stands still - not used to hugs in general and not really wanting to disturb her when she seems particularly comfortable.

As he mentally maps the way her shoulders look from this angle, she settles in closer. “You know, there are studies that show hugging for twenty seconds a day is good for your health.”

“You’re just baiting me so you can indulge your sweater fixation,” he teases, gently running his hand along the soft pink fabric of her top.

“No, I’m not!” she insists adorably, tilting her head back to look at him. They’re still holding each other. At five seconds, this is already the longest hug he’s willingly been a part of. “Hugs release oxytocin.”

“Is that something in my cereal?” He knows what oxytocin is but he likes listening to her explain things.

“It’s a _stress_ reliever. People who hug at least twenty seconds a day are less likely to have heart-related issues or get sick.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re trying to prolong my life?”

There’s a moment of hesitancy in her gaze before her resolve snaps into place. “Yes.” He nods, accepting his fate, already starting to let go of her back when she holds tighter and declares, “You should be hugging someone daily. I’m making it my new mission to hug you at least twenty seconds a day.”

He laughs, rubbing the scruff of his neck as something uncomfortable lingers in his gut. “You’ll have to catch me, first. And good luck holding onto me - you might have to do twenty one-second hugs instead of one long one.”

Mary rounds the corner into the break room with such efficiency that he barely has time to spring back, gently pushing Betty off of him. She eyes the pair with her usual shrewdness. “I know it’s not Jughead’s birthday - so what gives?”

“She _loves_ my sweater,” he covers quickly, thankful that the coffee has given him enough energy to deflect. “Wanted to test it out for herself.”

“ _Really_? I hope you told her who’s responsible for your good taste.”

“He did.” Betty puts the tea bag in her secondary cup. She’s the only person he knows who uses two cups for tea - one for the bag, and one for the water - so she doesn’t leave stains when she’s waiting to steep the second cup. “Do you take requests?”

“Way ahead of you. The next batch of sweaters are going to have giant frosty snowmen on them or dancing reindeer.”

“Oh, joy,” he deadpans, retreating to the corner of the room.

“Stop being sulky and go back to your desk before I ban you from the holiday buffet.”

He holds his hand to his heart, bending back like he’s been shot. “And _ruin_ my new year?”

“Keep up the sass. See what happens.”

“Scrooge.” Mug up to his lips, he winks a goodbye.

Cutesy things like that make him feel like a sap - so after-school special. Warm moments in the break room with his foster mom and work crush...he might as well scrap his nonfiction examination of broken small town systems and write the next _Hallmark_ movie.

Betty might like that.

He cringes at his own thought process and forces himself to answer annoying emails while he still has a shred of dignity left.

That night, he does his laundry, sniffing his sweater and catching a faint whiff of peppermint. Her favorite _de-stress_ scent.

The sweater doesn’t need to be washed right away.

The next day, he catches Betty double-stress-balling it after a phone call gone awry. He follows her to the break room where the faucet is almost vibrating with a pulse of hot water.

“Hey.”

“Hi!” She quickly shuts off the water, pushing her palms into her pants to dry.

Pretending to raid the fridge, Jughead looks around the liters of soda bottles and carefully labeled lunch sacks. “A guy can’t even stress-eat.”

“I have an apple in my bag, if you’d like.”

He stands up, closing the door. “No thanks. Trying to cut back on healthy food so I can eat my body weight at the buffet.”

With a lovely pity-chuckle, she looks away.

“What are some other ways to relieve stress that don’t involve eating? Hopefully something free that doesn’t involve a yoga studio membership.”

“Well...you could smell peppermint oils, try counting, listening to classical music…” She cracks her fingers without seeming to realize it.

“What about the hug thing?”

Eyes flashing with recognition, she nods. “We could do the hug thing, if you wanted to.”

Pretending to make a show of it, he rolls his eyes and opens his arms. “Seems like the spirited thing to do.”

She burrows into him–that’s the only way he can think to describe it.

“Sorry my shirt’s not as soft today.”

“It’s still nice.”

He doesn’t bother counting. There’s something in the _twenty seconds of heaven_ that drains the tension from their muscles.

“You think we could convince Mary to let us take daytime naps if it’s good for our health?”

“Don’t tempt me to argue for it. There are too many other things on my plate.” Betty sighs and holds him closer.

It becomes a habit - the hugging thing. When Mary catches them at it in the break room, she pulls Jughead into her office.

“We’re not seeing each other. Obviously.” He tugs the neck of his new sweater.

“Obviously?”

“She’s–I mean, dating a coworker...it’s…I don’t even _date_.” He exhales, letting out an awkward laugh.

Mary folds her hands on top of the desk with that knowing head tilt going on. “So you like her?”

He shrugs. “She’s a hard worker and brings in all the stuff she stress-bakes. She smells nice.”

“She _smells nice?_ ”

“I mean–she’s _clean_ , at least. Why are we talking about this?”

Leaning back in her super fancy lawyer/CEO/Bosslady chair, Mary regards him with an even stare. “New sweaters. Hug breaks. Anything else I should know about?”

“No.” He sounds like the sulky teens they deal with all the time. “Fangs is throwing a New Year’s Party after the Center’s, but you’re the boss, so you’re not invited.”

“Thanks for clarifying I can’t hang with _the cool kids_. I’ve already got plans.” She grins, thumbing through the leather binder on her desk. “No fraternizing. I’ll try to remember that.”

He swallows hard, mumbling something about _write it on one of your memo pads_ or a different, equally remarkable quip before slinking back to his desk to wiggle a pen between his pointer and ring finger.

“Need another hug?” Betty offers.

After a minute, he sets his pen down. “Yeah.”

~~~

Dread starts pooling in his gut as he registers not one, but _two_ ghosts from his past at the post-Center New Year's Eve party. Toni, a tough girl who asked him out in middle school, had gotten him a milkshake in exchange for a date, and then he never spoke to her again. He avoided her, actually, afraid that she’d punch him out for implying he didn’t like her half as much as he liked milkshakes. She finally caught the hint and glared at him any time she saw him. It’s possible she was behind the beating he got behind the school a few weeks later.

The other ghost is a recurring nightmare known as Ethel Muggs who sends him _‘anonymous_ ’ notes and fruit baskets. As much as he loves food, he always donates them to the center because there’s no way he can be guilted into accepting tokens as generous as that without returning that affection. Not _again_ , anyway.

If Toni and Ethel get to talking…

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by a gentle touch on his forearm. “You look pale. You okay?”

“Yeah. Air. I need some air.” Just as Betty is about to step away, he grabs her in panic, using her as a human shield even though he’s probably got six inches on her. “Come with me.”

“Okay.”

He hauls her out via the side stairs to the patio, instantly aware of the heat disparity of a double-wide trailer packed with people versus the freezing cold relative solitude of the patio. Someone in a leather jacket blows some cigarette smoke in their direction, eyeing their hasty departure. Betty coughs as discreetly as she can.

“‘Scuse us,” he mutters, tugging his hat down over his ears and wandering further into the woods, further from the disaster of a trailer park. People are so drunk they don’t even realize they’re underdressed and walking around in the cold.

When they’re what he deems a reasonably safe distance away, Betty trips over a lump in the snow, frowning at it while she rights herself. “Are we hoping to start the year off by luring coyotes or bears?”

“No. Just...too many people.”

“That tends to happen at parties.” She dusts her boots off, tone devoid of judgment. “What convinced you to come?”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks around at the pine trees. People cut these down to be solitary, drag them to their homes to dress them up and watch them die a little more each day.

The holidays make him particularly morbid.

“Seemed like a good time to be a designated driver. Earn some goodwill.”

For a few seconds, she lets that hang between them. “You’re a good guy, Jughead.”

He stares at her chin, trying not to focus on the way her lips look when she says his name. The girls inside probably wouldn’t agree with her. “Yeah, well…”

The countdown can be heard across the trailer park. It jumpstarts his heart every second. A second pulse.

Betty offers him a wistful smile. “Happy New Year, Jug.”

He nods, lost in the sweetness of it all. The trees shielding them on one side, the glow of rectangular houses and people dancing with streamers on the other.

A chorus of kazoos and shouts erupt throughout, distracting him. But then Betty’s hands are on his jacket. He looks at her in confusion as she gets closer, _super_ close, flickering a questioning glance at him while her breath warms his face.

It’s the New Year. She wants…

As the realization dawns on him, he slowly tilts his face, not quite believing his luck with she leans up and presses her lips to his.

Shouts of joy and general celebration make a nice backdrop to the plush warmth of Betty Cooper being his.

She’s not–not really, but for a second, he’s stupid and shivering and being kissed by the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. When they break apart, he almost feels like stumbling. She bites down on her smile and studies his face.

“Are you–was that okay?”

He could almost collapse with reverie, so instead he chuckles. “That was–yes. That was a _happy_ New Year’s kiss.” She looks so pleased to have made his miserable holiday a little brighter that he can’t help but crack a joke to try and make her day. “So...do they have a saying about kissing for twenty seconds reducing stress?”

“We could try it and see?”

“For... _science_.” They both lean in this time, noses brushing nervously as excitement hitches his breath.

_I love you_ , he wants to say, and shutters the thought by kissing her senseless. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing.At one point his hands are on her coat, the next, they’re on her skin. Hair makes its way into the mix. He’s trying to change up his lip movements, sucking and switching and probably totally amateur compared to a gorgeous woman who’s _lived_ somewhere outside this crazy town of theirs.

He’s so nervous he’s sure his heart is about to burst out his ribs like a brick through a window–the only threatening note a _please return to Betty Cooper._

After what could be three seconds or five minutes, she shivers in his arms. He pulls back, even though it almost _physically_ pains him - like removing those clingy sticky tape bandages after giving blood. Betty’s eyelids stay heavy. She must be tired. “We should get you inside.”

“I’m fine out here,” she insists, but she’s trembling and sort of heavy in his arms.

“As _hot_ as my technique may be–” If she’s not cringing on the inside, _he_ is. “I think we should rejoin the party. After the ball drop is when the drunken round-up begins.”

“All right.” She licks her lips, looking at his mouth one last time before they walk back to the party with his arm slung around her shoulders to keep her warm. He has no idea how he’s supposed to live the rest of his life pretending he’s a guy who kisses people at parties instead of head-over-ass for an off-limits coworker who’s just having a good time and being nice.

Maybe she likes him. Well, obviously she likes him a _little_ if she was willing to kiss him for a few minutes at the start of the year.

He loses his nerve to talk about it as the drunks descend like slobbery dogs ready to go home and nap it off.

Betty takes a car full of girls home and he takes the boys, even though time-wise it might’ve made more sense to mix and match. He doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her in a car alone with a guy twice her weight and _drunk_. Even if the guy isn’t a creep, he could fall asleep on the ride and she’d be stuck with making sure he didn’t freeze to death overnight. Jughead’s had more than a few of those occasions to contend with.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you later, fellow cabbie.”

“See you later.” She waves her keys at him, jangling playfully.

A tennis ball of anxiety bounces in his chest even before he starts the engine.

“She’s pretty,” someone in the back mumbles.

“She’s…” _Everything_ , he wants to fill in.

Once he’s back to his own little trailer, he texts Betty. “Just wanted to make sure you got home ok.”

She sends him a selfie. Betty’s snuggled into bed with the book he got her for Christmas propped against her chest. She looks _radiant_. Comfy, soft, sweet, intelligent. In the background, she’s got a cup of decaf tea in the mug her sister got her that says _‘can’t check that off yet’_ in an ode to Nancy Drew.

His heart aches as warm fuzzies work their way through his gut.

Like a masochistic idiot, he pictures himself nestled up against her side reading the book she gave _him_. Her favorite. She’s been egging him on to read it for ages and he hasn’t yet–mostly because it can’t possibly live up to the endearing way she goes on about it. She got him a secondary present, a box of homemade cookies, _a bribe_ , she’d teased, so he’d read and report back.

In an effort to capture the fantasy, he poses on his own bed, fussing with his hair based on his image in the viewport of his phone. Eventually, he gets a selfie he thinks is worthy of sending to her. “Looks cozy. I’m getting a head start on my NY resolutions.”

“Cute! You’re reading it?! I’m so excited!” A slew of heart emojis and celebratory poppers follows.

_Cute_?

He chews his lip, not sure if he should read into anything. “What are your NY resolutions, Betts?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in them?”

“Yes, but I know how much you love making lists :P what’s the first thing getting checked off?”

The ellipses indicating her response in motion keep flaring up and disappearing. Clearly, she’s having a hard time deciding. Either that or she’s typing a mini novel.

“Kissing 20 seconds a day. So far, that one’s a check ;)”

He laughs, surprised. “I’m happy to offer my services.”

“What if I trade you for 20 seconds of snuggles? I’d say that’s a fair exchange.”

His heart pounds in his chest at the idea of literally kissing Betty Cooper _every day_. “Your sure know how to negotiate.”

“One of my many skills.”

Biting his lip, Jughead thinks about the center and everything it means to both of them. Maybe Mary wouldn’t mind if they… _connected_. But he’s an unmitigated romantic disaster waiting to happen. The kids don’t need to see that kind of tension in a place that’s supposed to be safe for them. Then again, if he _doesn’t_ do something about it, he’ll rightly be pining after her forever, and it’s only a matter of time before the muscle-heads who tend to help them wake up and realize that the most wonderful woman alive is right in their office and pick up a book so they might have a shot with her. Not that it’d be easy to woo her, of course, but it makes his stomach turn nonetheless.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he calls Mary.

Her voice is thick with sleep and sharp with action-ready Andrews genes. “Everything okay?”

“Hey. Yeah. Sorry to bother you, I just–is it okay if I date Betty?” The silence is deafening. “I mean, if it’s not…” His gut drops. He’ll _survive_ , but he’s not sure he can stop himself from kissing her every day regardless.

“Why are you asking me?”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve sensed _something_ happening between us.” He fiddles with the drawstring on his pants, then the book by his side. “I just don’t want to mess anything up. I don’t exactly have the greatest track record.”

“Not liking two girls who had a crush on you isn’t exactly a _track record_ , Jughead.”

“No, but I do have that juvie stint.”

“From _years_ ago, for playing with matches when your home life was burning down anyway. Betty knows all about that.”

He cringes internally at the thought of his less-than-savory life moments being laid out before her. “Did you guys talk about me?”

“Mmhm. She was _very_ interested. Seemed a little put-out that you kept your heart close to your chest, but I reassured her that you are a great guy and I had every confidence that when the right person came along, you’d be a wonderful partner.”

The faith the Andrews have always had in his character has always been a motivator to keep going–to lead by example when necessary. “I wish I had your confidence. So you don’t think it’d be weird if we...worked together? And dated?”

“Of course not! Although I don’t want you doing anything unsavory on center grounds, tempting as that may be. Archie should have a few stories on what that penance would be.”

Shuddering at the thought of anything happening in the vicinity of his desk, Jughead wipes his mouth and ponders what his next move should be.

“I’m not saying you should or shouldn’t date her. We both know she’s amazing. But what do _you_ want to do? You two have been doing this dance for a while now, but is it time to step it up to a tango? It's not often you fall for somebody.”

“Oh, _god_ ,” he laughs, rubbing his face. “Have I been that obvious?”

“Calling me in the middle of the night to ask if it’s okay to date her and flirting with each other all day every day kinda gave it away. What would you say to one of the kids at the center if they came to you with a similar situation?”

He swallows hard. “Follow your heart.”

“So what does your heart say?”

Without hanging up, he opens up the text message chain with Betty and stares at her picture for one long second before typing out, “Theoretically, what would be the exchange rate for a date?”

“Jughead? You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” he answers, switching to speaker phone so he can stare at his phone like a lovesick teenager.

Thankfully, a notification from Betty pops up almost right away. “I’d say another date. Pop’s or my place?”

“I’m doing _great_.”

~~~

“I knew you slept with me just to get to my sweaters.”

Betty giggles as he tugs her back into his embrace to plant kisses on the open splotches of skin on her neck. The sweater is too big on her and _just right_ all the same, the peachy roundness of her ass peeking out the bottom of the hem. Every inch of her skin feels like heaven. They kiss and cuddle and caress until the sweater’s on the floor again.

“I have a better way of keeping warm and releasing oxytocin,” he teases as she wraps her legs around his hips and pulls him flush against her center. “If you’re willing to try it.”

She quirks one of those earth-shattering eyebrows at him. “Can I count on it being longer than 20 seconds?”

He chuckles, letting his head fall forward. “You want me to get out the measuring tape and find out how long it really is?”

His cheeky reply earns him a brilliant grin and squeeze. "Like you haven't tried to measure it." As they fit together, everything dissolves into satisfaction.

They’re going to last _far_ , _far_ longer than 20 seconds.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who took the time to look at this. I hear spending 20 seconds to craft a comment helps boost endorphins *cough* Well, that's probably true for the author, anyway. I hope this fic gave you a boost and that you have a great day! tumblr is @lovedinapastlife


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